Marukaite Chikyuu  England bonus chapter
by Europe28
Summary: The mysterious island had been named many things. Rome knew that  Ancient  Greece had named in Albion, his own people referred to the island as Britannia. Bonus chapter from Marukaite Chikyuu, very small hints of Fruk.


**This is an extra chapter about England's birth from my other fiction 'Marukaite Chikyuu'**

**43 – Romans successfully invade Southern Britain**

Rome regretted the decision to bring his grandson immediately, the moment they stepped foot on the wet beach.

A cloud seemed to hang over the country. He'd been here once before alone many years ago, but this time he was determined to take it for sure.

The mysterious island had been named many things. Rome knew that (Ancient) Greece had named in Albion, his own people referred to the island as Britannia.

"It's cold here Grandpa," Italy shivered, wondering how the Roman soldiers could stand so boldly in their metal armour and short metal skirts- His grandfather was always telling him not to call them skirts.

Italy himself was bundled in as many warm furs as Rome had managed to get hold of.

"Just stay here with these men," Rome patted his grandson's head, nodding to two of his soldiers, before ordering the others forward, "we're going to go and find a nation."

Italy nodded meekly, snuggling against his warm furs. He missed his home land, and the bright sun.

France had often laughed at the idea of a nation being able to survive on the island. Even though France had never crossed the sea, he clearly didn't like the look of the place.

Glancing around, Italy thought he heard a rustle in the undergrowth. It looked like the soldiers had heard it too, because they were suddenly on red alert; swords in their hands.

Out of nowhere something small shot from the tall grass, plucking a dagger from its belt. It moved so quickly that the soldiers were lying with slit throats before they could even react.

A red haired child was standing in front of Italy looking hesitant, knife held aloft, like he wasn't sure whether to stab or not.

"A-Are you like mother and my brothers?" He asked, lowering the knife a little.

"You mean a nation?" Italy felt himself drawing in quick little gasps; even if his grandfather had told him nations couldn't die, it still frightened him to think of the idea of being stabbed.

The boy looked confused at the word, raising the knife again, "You don't die?" He pressed again, plummeting the the knife into Italy's chest.

Crying out in pain, Italy pulled away from the knife, clutching his chest that was now bleeding heavily onto his furs; but he could feel the skin and his insides mending almost immediately.

The boy nodded approvingly, pulling a cheeky grin.

"My name is Scotland" He grasped Italy's arm with it, "My land is in the north, but I like to be down here with my mother and brothers."

Italy took his arm in return, smiling.

"Do you have many brothers?" Italy wasn't sure how many nations there were, and he was sure his grandfather underestimated the number.

"I have three" the Scot stuck out his chest proudly, "one of them was born recently, he's a little weird looking, but very cute."

"A baby?" Italy's eyes glowed; he loved babies, they were always so adorable and innocent, he didn't get to see very many because his grandfather didn't like him too, but he sometimes saw mother's carrying them outside his bedroom window.

"Do you want to see him?" Scotland asked, looking even more pleased, then he bit his lip, "not now, it isn't safe, not while your adult friend is walking around..." The red haired boy looked sad, "but I'll take you to see him when the adult leaves."

Italy sighed sadly, "he's my grandfather, when he leaves I'll have to as well."

The wild looking boy looked puzzled over this, blinking his amber coloured eyes under his overly thick eyebrows. "You go everywhere with your grandfather?"

Italy nodded, "don't you do that with your mother?"

Scotland shrugged, "I do that because I want to, she wouldn't make me stay if I didn't want to."

The small Italian boy suddenly felt even smaller; he must look very pampered and weak next to the similarly aged boy.

Scotland had a lot less fur on him, and his chest was almost bare; around his neck was a necklace studded with odd looking bones that Italy couldn't recognise from his studies.

"Well then I will take you to see him..." Scotland bit his lip, "but only if you promise never to tell anyone where we're hidden."

"I promise." Italy didn't like lying to his grandfather, but he didn't like his cruel approach to other nations. He knew his grandfather was kind to him, but he'd heard rumours from France that this was not so for all nations.

He'd seen his father strike his friend once in a rage.

France looked very much like Germania and his kin, so it was not surprising that Rome didn't like him, even though he had been born when they began constructing Lutetia on his lands.

Scotland led him through the bracken and mud, while Italy tried not to look like he cared that he was getting all muddy.

He wasn't sure quite how far they were travelling and hoped his grandfather didn't get back to the beach and start worrying.

"What are your other brothers like?" Italy tried to make conversation, "I'm Italy by the way, though that isn't a real country name..."

"Ireland is the eldest, and he's got red hair like me, he actually owns the neighbouring island, but he's over here at the moment. Wales had blond hair and greeny-blue coloured eyes. We haven't got a name for the bairn yet."

Coming up to a cave, Scotland led the way inside.

It was lit by many cracks in the ceiling that shed a light on the moss filled room. Compared to the outside of Britannia it looked quite snug.

A young red haired woman was holding a young child close to her chest, while another younger than Italy stood on tip toes to see the baby.

She hissed slightly when she saw Italy but Scotland calmed her down, "this is a friend of mine, don't worry he won't tell the others we're here, he just wanted to see the bairn."

The red haired woman still didn't look so sure, until she saw that Italy was only a little older than the boy now cowering behind her. She motioned him forwards, tilting the baby for him to see.

Italy felt a wide smile spreading over his face, wait till he told France about this. Then he remembered he'd promised not to tell anyone.

The newborn child had the thick eyebrows that all his family seemed to be party to, he also had messy blond hair like the one Italy supposed must be Wales; that had now come out to curiously examine all the fur he was lined in.

When he opened his eyes, Italy could also see the brightest green eyes he'd ever seen.

He felt a small pounding in his head when a similar shade of eye colour flashed in his memory, but he pushed that aside.

"He is cute" Italy smiled, holding out his finger for the child to examine.

"He's a tough little one though" Britannia gave a small chuckle, "he's just as stubborn as Scotland here," she patted Wale's head, "this one was always such an agreeable baby."

Remembering how long in had taken to get here, and also his grandfather, Italy swallowed, "I should be getting back before grandfather realises I'm gone and comes looking for me."

Britannia nodded, "Scotland will take you back."

Italy nodded thankfully; he had a terrible sense of direction, and this country was so dark and foggy it would be difficult to find your way around alone.

Thankfully when he got back Rome still hadn't returned.

"See you my friend" Scotland grinned, before vanishing back into the mist.

**~/~**

Rome shook his head, he hated this country, it was always so wet and miserable; he missed Rome. But he'd received orders that until the nation of this mud pit was found he was to stay put, that also meant he had little Italy out here with the savages as well.

"We've found something!" A soldier shouted suddenly, bursting into the room and looking very excited, "it's only small but we think it might be what you're looking for."

Rome leapt to his feet, missing his grandson's worried look.

"Let go of me!" A young voice snapped, as more soldiers began to march into the fort. They were dragging a blond child with them, with fiercely burning green eyes. He couldn't be any older than the physical age of four.

Italy got to his feet. Was this the same baby he'd seen almost a year ago; how had it grown so quickly?

Come to think of it, France had grown very quickly as well.

"This can't be Britannia" Rome sighed, examining the child, lifting him by the scruff of the neck. The small boy reacted by biting down hard on Rome's hand.

Letting out a cry of anger and pain, Rome drew his sword pointing it at the child, clearly pondering whether the nation had grown to much for him to kill it.

"I'm England!" The boy yelled, kicking his tiny legs in vain.

"Please don't hurt him grandpa" Italy heard himself beg, rushing forwards, "he's only little."

Rome rolled his eyes, "Chibitalia I can't spare every baby nation we find,"

"I'm not a baby!" England howled, his face growing red with the effort to get away, "put me down right now or my brothers will come and kick your self-satisfied Roman butt!"

"Why you insolent..." Rome broke off, looking over the child again. He smirked, turning back to his men, "I believe we might still find Britannia yet."

A group of soldiers ran forwards seizing England's wrists, holding him steady, while Rome polished off his fist.

"Let's see if your mother feels this," his hard fist hit the boy squarely in the chest, but the tiny child bore it well, spitting on the floor, narrowing his eyes at Rome.

Italy wanted to close his eyes, but he found himself fixed to the floor, mouth hanging open.

Rome was growing more angry by the minuet; the stress of having been stuck on the island for so long was finally overspilling.

Drawing his sword from his belt he stabbed down hard on the boy's spine.

The child's scream probably could have been heard for miles, even without him being a nation.

Rome grinding the sword a little deeper before pulling it out slowly.

England's eyes filled with defiant and guilty tears, gasping hurriedly, trying to control the pain, while his body healed the many wounds.

His eyes met Italy's with a faint look of recognition, struggling forwards before Rome could stop him, he took hold of Italy's index finger, looking at him pleadingly.

Clinging to England's limp form, Italy fixed his eyes defiantly on his grandfather, "I'm sure Britannia felt that," he was surprised at the harshness in his voice.

Rome was clearly shocked too, because he nodded, motioning the men away, "take care of him until his mother arrives."

If Rome had his way, England's mother would never reach him.

England still had hold of Italy's finger.

"You came to visit me when I was still a baby" he whispered, "my brother tells me stories about the fancy boy he met on the beach."

"My name's Italy, I'm sorry about what's happening..."

England shook his head, "my brother said your a good person, so I don't believe your to blame..." He began to cry softly, "I want my mama..."

The word made Italy blink, it sounded similar to a word he'd heard France using sometimes. "What does that word mean?" He couldn't help but ask.

"I think it's another word for mummy or mother," England rubbed his eyes, "my family doesn't know where I get my funny words from..." He gave a small smile of laughter, wrapping his arms around Italy's waist.

"I have a friend who talks like that, he lives just across the sea from you," Italy was happy to try and distract the child.

"Across the sea?" England blinked, glancing over in the direction that Italy supposed was the direction of the sea.

"I think you'd like him, he's a little picky and high-strung, but he's really nice too; he's got blond hair like you and Wales," Italy missed his friend a little.

Recently France had become fixed on his hatred for Rome, ever since his other friend had been invaded.

Italy had never been allowed to meet the other nation in Rome's Empire, though France had told him he was called Spain.

"Mama says you can't kill a nation so Rome won't hurt her right?" England blinked those large green eyes at Italy, making the southern child feel a little dizzy.

He pulled England into a tight hug, "t-there are ways" he stammered, the words catching in his throat; he knew what his grandfather was capable of, and death wasn't quick either.

Cries from outside told them the battle had begun.

"Mama!" England flew away from Italy's grip and out into the fort where his mother's people were breaking through.

He could see his mother and brothers in the thick of it, moving skilfully around the Roman soldiers.

"England!" Scotland spotted him, and charged under the legs of the soldiers, scooping his little brother up in his arms.

"We need to get out" England wailed, sniffing in his brother's scent from the animal furs.

"Not yet, these Romans need to be pushed out once and for all!" Scotland insisted, "but I'll take you to safety..."

"He's going to kill mama!"

Scotland's eyes widened, following his brother's gaze to the most powerful looking of the crowd; someone like them.

"No!" He shouted, putting England down on the floor, charging forwards towards Rome, taking hold of his legs, tripping him up.

"Stupid brat!" Rome growled, kicking him off, returning to his previous route.

His eyes were glowing with power and strength.

"Don't take her away!" England shouted at the sky, eyes wide and frightened like he'd seen something up there, "go away, I don't want you here!"

Italy was trying to motion England back to the safety of his room, but he found himself looking up at where England was.

He couldn't see anything, but something sent a shiver down his spine.

England began to run through the soldiers towards Britannia, eyes fixed on the sky like it was moving with him.

But Rome got there first, muttering under his breath as he stabbed Britannia through the chest, driving her to the floor.

England arrived just in time to hear the words, "your time is up."

His brother's had been captured by the Roman soldiers.

Closing his eyes, England yelled a curse at Rome, fixing his eyes on the sky again, spitting. Then he turned and ran.

**Many years later**

Peering through the grass England let his eyes rest on the curious looking boy.

Blond hair like his and Wale's. The boy was complaining thoroughly.

England knew who he was at once.

Smiling to himself, he followed the boy through the moor, hidden by the mist and grass.

Ever since he had abandoned them to Rome, his brother's had wanted nothing to do with him. England could only guess the ways that Rome had tortured them.

Scotland had eventually escaped back to his own land, but Ireland and Wales had suffered for a long time, as had his people.

The the boy he was watching began to cry, England felt his heart shake.

The blond boy pulled out a sword looking around wildly, "show yourself!"

Feeling nervous now, England raised his sling and flung an accurate stone at the other nation's hand. He felt pained when the boy dropped his sword and began to cry harder.

Sneaking forwards he reached out a hand to take the older boy's, tugging him in the direction of the beach where he'd seen him pull up.

He was too shy to let himself be seen, but he couldn't just leave the poor boy out here.

When he knew they were mere meters from the beach he snuck behind the boy's back and bushed him the final stretched, backing away quickly so he wouldn't see him.

"Thank you" the boy called back into the mist.

Smiling England wanted to tell him he was welcome, but he held back.

When he was sure the boy was far enough away from the shore he hurried onto the beach.

The boy noticed him and looked back, they simply stared at each other for a while, until the older nation broke eye contact.

Then England remembered the sword. It had been very pretty, and the boy had looked upset to lose it.

Hurrying back into the moor, Arthur reached his hand down into the mud and pulled it out.

Just in case the boy ever wanted it back.


End file.
